Faces
by porcelaindakota
Summary: Four girls, four different nations. Each has a story. A series of four oneshots, each displaying the tragedy of war. Ch 4: Annot, of the Fire Nation.
1. Sacrifice

_Well, I think you guys should all know—this is obviously at least a hundred years before the events of Avatar: the Last Airbender. The other one-shots in the series will be more current. I figured my Air Nomad should go first, to be at least halfway chronological. Personally, I can't wait to write my Earth oneshot—but that will probably come last. _

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Tao: Air Nomads**

**Meaning of name: Long life**

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I'll admit it. I was scared. When they told us that the Fire Nation was approaching, I mean. That we were to prepare to fight. But I have tried to put on a face of bravery for my friends and family. They believe I fear nothing.

I've spent the last four days preparing for them. The strange thing is, I don't really know what exactly I'm getting ready for. Will they capture me? Will I escape? Will I die? Will my family survive? And if they do, will I ever see them again?

We are the closest temple to the Fire Nation's boundaries; we really don't know what's going to happen. They are renowned as powerful, but that doesn't necessarily mean cruel, does it? They are soldiers, not murderers; they will have mercy on us. We are merely a small, ragtag monastery, filled with monks and women and young children—we present no threat. No people are so inhumane as to kill a peaceful group such as us.

That doesn't mean I can't be scared, though. I see the adults' worried looks—I am 15, not a child, and I understand what they mean. And it only makes me even more anxious to see this through, to be safe again. Once the Fire Nation takes over this area, things can return to normal. Yes, we'll have to live under them, but how bad could it get? (My parents whisper of being split up—I must admit, that is my greatest fear. Not the battle, nor the Fire Nation soldiers, but being separated. My family, and the other benders, are my life.)

I am snapped out of my reverie when all the others around me suddenly look up, alarmed. A door opens, and an elderly man, one of the head monks, peers out, his eyes weary and anxious. At first, I do not realize what the cause for alarm is—and then I hear it, too: the gong. Our agreed warning that the Fire Nation was approaching.

Immediately, everyone packs up whatever they were doing and heads to find their families, rushing to see them before the conflict ensues. I leap up and dash down the hall, sprinting ahead of the others as I run to find my family.

I turn down the familiar hallways, instinct taking over as my conscious thoughts turn to war. By now, I am beginning to imagine I can hear the soldiers' footsteps thunking outside the walls of the temple, and the repeated chime of the gong is thundering in my ears, making me believe I will go deaf. Blood is pumping through my ears as I throw open the door to my family's compartments and run inside, calling out for my mother and father.

My mother is already downstairs, in the kitchen, her place of refuge, no matter what the storm. She turns when I enter, but her eyes are unfocused as she gazes at me. She looks through me, too busy with her preparations for the battle to really notice that I am there. It scares me, her glazed eyes and the way she doesn't look like she's even here. Her normally beautiful, lithe features are stretched and contorted; she looks like no one I know.

My father thunders down the stairs next, and, though he appears worried, he is not nearly in the state of my mother. He is a thick, rippling man, with muscular arms and shoulders, coupled with a heavy chest and torso. He flashes me a quick, nervous smile: _it will be all right, _he seems to say to me in that brief moment, before he strides to the mantle above our fireplace and lifts his staff off from the wall.

I nod, to no one really, and walk past both of them, to our small balcony overlooking the cliffs and the damp valleys below. A thick layer of fog lays over the rocky, craggy surface, a curtain for the Fire Nation to tear through and descend upon my home.

I feel a hand on my shoulder, and turn to face my father, his eyes seeming bleak and sad, a strange combination he has never worn before. "I told Jae-Sun that you would assist in leading the children to safety," he says grimly, looking out over me, his eyes wandering, like mine, onto the fog outside.

Part of me is angry: my piece of this great battle has been stolen! My chance to be a hero, to face the heat of the battle, to be involved in my people's glorious, heroic fall to the Fire Nation. After all, doesn't everyone want to be a hero, for just once in their lives? Even if the cause itself is not victorious?

The other half of me appreciates his kindness. He only wants to ensure my safety, I know. He does not want me to be caught up in the great and powerful war machine that is the Fire Nation.

I nod meekly, being the good, obedient daughter I am. He smiles slightly, a tiny half-moon, and turns back to help my mother.

Even though he has not told me where to go to meet the children, I have heard, in the countless meetings concerning today's invasion, where to go. Those evacuating the children are meeting in East Wing of the dormitories—a more run-down area of the temple, but close to our escape routes. From there, we shall be able to slip the children out through a chain of underground passages leading to the outside. These passages then lead to the edge of the expansive valleys bordering our home, to where we shall escape until a safe return is guaranteed. Also, this method of escape is much easier than exiting through the passages on the other side of the temple complex, as the Fire Nation will most likely approach from the northwest—they have been camped there for several weeks now.

My mind is blank as I head to the East Wing; I think only of my mission, of how to protect the children. I am only an amateur airbender myself, possessing no weapons such as the more experienced in the temple. But then again, from what I have seen and heard, the Fire Nation soldiers themselves mainly just firebend—they do not often use swords and staffs, according to our instructors.

I toss my thoughts aside as I reach the dormitory. There, some 20 or more children are being lined up and carefully counted by a young man. I note to myself that he is rather handsome, and perhaps just a year or two my senior. He notices me, glancing over his shoulder; I smile back, attempting to make my eyes shine in the way that they did before this horrible war. His eyes seem to smile back at me, and I grin to myself and continue walking.

It seems I have arrived just in time—another man gives a signal, and the children turn to face the door in the wall heading out into the passageway. Being nearest, I slide open the door and venture into the grimy underground hallway, wrinkling my nose at the smell of rot and mold.

The handsome boy appears next to me, seemingly vaporizing out of thin air, winking at me slyly. A middle-aged woman calls from behind us that we are to lead the children. Both of us nod and continue forward. No one speaks, and the only sound is the sloshing of the wet mud beneath our feet. Our tiny group moves forward like this for several minutes.

After a while, I wrinkle my nose again, but not for the smell of mold…there is another scent, hanging thickly in the air, and it is completely unfamiliar to me. Beside me, the handsome boy stops and sniffs, once, twice, his eyes suddenly widening in alarm. Far behind us, further back than the children, the adults have stopped as well, whispering alarmedly among themselves, beginning to glance around, panicked.

Smoke begins to creep into the passage. Then, I at last understand: the Fire Nation is here, in this passage, now. We have not fooled them with our clever strategy, by exiting opposite their camps; on the contrary, it appears that they have fooled us.

On our command, the children begin to retreat, hurrying back to the safety of the elders. The boy and I back away with them, more slowly, our arms raised, prepared to fight.

Suddenly, there is an explosion, and flames begin to burst through the wall on my right. Both of us are thrown back in front of the children, who by now are fleeing for their lives from the soldiers.

The boy turns to me. "Get back with the children. I'll hold them off until you can escape from the passageway. It would be death to stay in these closed quarters."

"But—" I begin, but a wrinkled, withered arm reaches from behind me and forcibly pulls me along, away from the boy and towards the children yet again. I stare back at him for a moment, then, composing myself, turn and sprint back towards the end of the passage, desperate to escape, to fight.

Though it was less than a minute, the run through the passage seems to take hours, perhaps even days. Before this battle I was not claustrophobic; now, however, the dank walls seem to be closing in around me, and darkness is enclosing me on all sides. Between this strange environment and my sprinting, I can barely breathe, and the air seems to be poisoned with smoke and ash.

Finally, there is a crack of light in the wall ahead of me, and we burst back into the East Wing, not pausing to catch our breaths as we practically fall back into the open room. Safety at last, we cannot help but think.

But our respite is to be short-lived; I hear shouts and boots behind me, and turn to meet a small band of Fire Nation soldiers head on. I give a small shout, and the others turn once again to meet the danger.

Flames lash out at me. I dive to the floor, scramble to my feet, and run, ushering the children ahead of me as the elders step in, sealing off the soldiers' path from the doorway to me and the children.

It suddenly comes to me that only three of the original 20 are here—the others must still be trapped in the East Wing, where the battle between air and fire was raging. My haggard little group still dashes down stairs and more hallways, ignoring the loss of so many of our number, attempting to reach more airbenders. Eventually, I realize that no help is coming—all of my people must be locked in battle outside. They most likely do not even know that soldiers have already infiltrated the temple.

Unbeknownst to me, soldiers are already behind us, and I fall to the floor as a blast of fire cuts me down at my knees. I stand firmly, prepared to fight for the children, my charges. As they huddle behind me, and I hear one little girl's quiet sobbing, and out of the corner of my eye I see them grasp each others' hands, readying themselves for whatever fate awaited them.

Seeing this unwittingly renews my zest for battle, and I charge at the Fire Nation soldiers, knocking several down with a gust of wind. I turn rapidly and manage to kick another in the abdomen, hard. He grunts and falls backwards, into another soldiers. I summon yet another wind, more powerful than the last, and blow the remainder back into the wall.

A single, impossible thought flashes across my mind as they stagger up—I may win! I still have a chance at being a hero, at saving the few children still entrusted to me. I smirk at them, sending a cutting gust of air down the center of the floor, towards the heart of their group. Several leap out of the way; others, not so fortunate, are hit head on and out cold.

Four firebenders face me now, all shaken and visibly wondering how a teenager, raised in a monastery all her life, and not even so great an airbender, could defeat an entire battalion of soldiers.

Then, they step aside, suddenly and surprisingly. At first, I believe they are surrendering, and I lower my stance for one moment.

In that moment, another firebender lashes forward, and flames erupt from his hands, creating a massive fiery whip, blowing me back onto the tiled floor before the children. They whimper as I stagger to my feet, clutching my singed arm.

The man who attacked me steps forward; he is obviously far higher ranking than the mere privates I battled. His uniform is ornate and crisp, his face, though wrinkled with age, is sharp, and his eyes seem to blaze like the fire he wields.

No matter, though…I will still defeat him. I have a job to do, a duty to the few lives still with me. He deals me another blow, a flaming clout to my head, and I fall to my knees, the children clinging to my arms desperately. One buries his or her petite face into my back, crying in anguish. My head is throbbing, the skin on my arm and neck burning as if they were on fire, too.

The firebender then motions me inside—and I understand. They do not care for me, the weak, useless airbender. They want the children, the future of the Air Nomads. If they destroy them, my people's future will go up in flames, literally.

I shake my head: no. In response, he steps forward, and withdraws a blade from his belt.

I then feel my first quiverings of fear. I have never been trained with or against true weapons, and only on the rarest occasion have I battled a man baring a roughly hewn wooden staff. He sees the flash of fear in my eyes; he knows that I have no chance against the sword.

But I will not die weak and shaking before this man; I draw myself up, power radiating from my eyes as I stare him defiantly in the face, daring him to commit the ultimate crime against me.

There is a glinting of metal, and the last thing I feel is the children's tiny hands wrapped around mine and the cool blade stabbing through me.

_

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Author's Note: This will (most likely) be the only one-shot in which the main character dies. But we all know the fate of the Airbenders: there was no way around it, unless I wanted to write about Aang. But once again, we know what happens there._

_Next, you can expect my Water one-shot. After that, fire, and then, earth. I can't promise regular updates—this story will end up being centered around my hectic schedule. _

**_Please review!_**


	2. Hopeless

_Before I start, a disclaimer: I believe I've told some reviewers that one of my benders (coughfirecough) will probably be crazy—scratch that. It's most likely been changed. And…here we go!_

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Yu Jie: Water Tribes**

_**Meaning of Name: Pure jade**_

The factory hums around me. Dust swirls up from the assembly line, and I wave it away, coughing beneath the hand over my mouth. You would think I would get used to this.

The chestplates of Fire Nation-standard armor snap into place, creating a steady rhythm to which the entire factory hums. I attempt to immerse myself into the stream of noise and the pace of my work, counting chestplate after chestplate as I continue to piece the armor together.

There is almost never any human noise in the factory, and today is no different; no one speaks, and the only sounds are pieces of armor clicking together and the occasional coughs of my coworkers, as dust swirls around them.

Finally, though I can't lose myself in the stream of work any longer, and I can't help but think about it. It's like when you're stuck in one of those really awkward silences, and eventually just have to break the ice. And right now, I can't help but think about the way things used to be…

I look around at the other people of my tribe, all working on Fire Nation armor as I. I find myself wanting to scream to them: "This isn't me! I wasn't always this way! I'm not just supposed to work in this stupid factory!" But I don't have the energy. I am tired and burnt out and I wouldn't care if I died this very instant.

I used to be happy. I used to dance and laugh, even though I was surrounded by war…I used to hope.

My life back then was…so completely different. _I _was completely different. I'm sure you've heard the saying "Ignorance is bliss"…well, it's true. My life was ignorant, and therefore, I was in bliss.

I'm not saying I was stupid; I'm saying that I was kept away from all of the horrors of the war growing up. The Fire Nation had been attacking my people since before I was born, so it wasn't like war was a new concept to Waterbenders—it's just that my parents did everything they could to keep me out of it. And so I ignored it all…until it was impossible to ignore it any longer.

Fire Nation soldiers first marched triumphantly into my village when I was only 11. I remember that the days before their arrival had been filled with tense silence and preparation between all of the adults of our tribe. Us children, though, were unaffected. We continued to remain unfazed by the tribulations of our time.

We were idealists; pure and untainted. Every single one of us. I always think of crystals when I look back on my childhood—beautiful and innocent. But so easy to destroy.

There were several events, tiny steps on the way to the loss of our innocence, before everything fell apart. They were all minor things, trivial mandates the Fire Nation would impose on us—curfew, rations…it was not an atypical wartime. But the one event that marked us all for the rest of our lives came in the fall of my twelfth year.

Until then, the Fire Nation's occupation had been like chiseling a might boulder—tiny cracks would form, and miniscule pieces of rock would fall off, but the boulder would still stand. At this point, however, the boulder completely toppled and was destroyed.

It was a sizzling day, sometime in July or August—to this day, I still don't know the exact date. I only remember that several of the Fire Nation battalions stationed in our village were about to leave, dramatically reducing the size of their forces there.

And, looking back on it, I remember that they were worried. Perhaps they feared that they couldn't control our territory with so few remaining troops.

Whatever the reason, however, they summoned all waterbenders above 16 to the village square. Several hundred of my people gathered there, all awaiting the Fire Nation's reasoning as to bringing them there. Finally, after hours of waiting, the man in charge of our area appeared, along with another few hundred Fire soldiers.

Then the massacre began.

I had been on a sidestreet nearby at this point; my father had been summoned, and I was spying on him, eager to learn why he had been forced to come to the city. Also, I wanted to catch more than just a glimpse of the Fire Nation—my parents had still attempted to shelter me, even during occupation, from the horrors of the war.

I will not go into the details of my father's death. He was murdered just like thousands of others were around the globe—so what importance the loss of just one life garner? None. His death is not important; he was only one man.

None of the lives around me matter anymore. I look at the others working beside me in the factory. All are dried up and used. Worthless. That is what the Fire Nation thinks of us, anyway. And they control our home, our people, our lives—our existence. What they think more often than not turns out to be truth for us.

The factory bell rings behind me, and I leave in a haze.

It is dark and overcast as I enter into the streets. Swollen clouds hang overhead, threatening to rain and darken my already somber mood. My scowl darkens as the first drops of rain begin to fall.

I slosh through puddles, sending torrents of water splashing up around me and onto others on the sidewalk as the rainfall grows heavier.

And during this, I cannot help but think: back then, I would have jumped into the puddles. I would have splashed around, dancing as droplets fell onto me and dripped down my face. The people around me wouldn't have been angry at the disruption; they would have smiled and laughed at my felicity—not like now, when they curse and mutter at me to just avoid the stupid puddles and stop getting them wet. I ignore them, as I have learned to do so well.

I stopped listening to people around my 15th birthday—I think I'd just finally had enough. I didn't want to hear anymore. All anyone talked about was the war anyway. And I'd heard enough of that particular subject to last me an entire lifetime.

The war was all the adults in our village cared about. Especially after the massacre in the village square, all they did was worry about what the Fire Nation would do next. And their worries were contagious. Every time a new group of soldiers came to our region, we assumed it meant that our village would finally be liquidated, as all of our benders had been. We lived in constant fear that the Fire Nation would finally finish the job they had started when I had been twelve.

Strangely enough, our village had mixed opinions on the war, and of the Fire Nation itself. While yes, we had a large population who staunchly opposed the Fire Lord's war of conquest, and though I suppose one could say that we had a small underground movement, there was another group that actually supported the Fire Nation. They believed that if the Fire Nation was victorious, they would be more generous and merciful with the people they had already conquered.

In simpler terms—they might not kill us. They'd be in too good a mood.

It's really pathetic, when you think about it: hoping that our overlords win the war so that they can continue to rule over us. But in a _good mood. _Make sure you remember that part. It makes all the difference.

I don't see why any of them tries to pretend that we're going to survive. The airbenders should have been example enough for everyone—the Fire Nation doesn't want anyone else alive. Once they have complete dominance of the world, they will kill all of us. It won't matter what nation you're from, or even if you can bend or not. If you're not a Fire Nation native, then you're toast. That's the simple truth. They try to ignore it, but it's the truth. And it only gets clearer and clearer as the war continues. We're dead men walking.

I haven't always been so pessimistic, if you want to get technical on me. I think of myself as more of a realist. But that's just a distinction.

I used to be a complete optimist: your average, stereotypical happy-go-lucky little preteen. I always believed that the sky was the limit—but where does the sky get you? Look at the Air Nomads.

When the Fire Nation first came to our village, I was actually _excited._ I was thrilled to be witness to them…in my mind, they were invincible, all powerful. I was just a little ignorant peasant girl who had never left her hometown in her entire life. They turned my world upside down, with their glinting armor and hungry flames. To me, they were a part of something much bigger than my village, than the tiny life I had led. They were intense, burning—my people were timid and pacifists, in comparison to these amazing soldiers. I was in awe. I was in euphoria. Unbelievably, I wanted to be like the firebenders. I even asked my mother if I could switch elements.

…she didn't take that well…

I snap back to reality just as I turn the corner onto my street. The houses here are tiny, worn and familiar, and I quicken my pace as I near my home, eager to get inside and dry myself.

Before I actually see my house, though, I smell it. The air is acrid and thick with the smell of embers and soot; I inhale deeply once, just to make sure I am not imagining the scent, and then set out even quicker, nearly running down the street.

Neighbors have gathered outside their homes, congregating on the sidewalks or at their windows. They are like most of the others in my village—they merely watch and gossip about the war as their world begins to implode on them. They are useless.

I ignore the whispers that they pointedly aim my way and trudge onward. I am completely soaked by now, but I ignore the chilling rain as I rush to the end of the street.

Once there, I find my house…

…burned to the ground.

I stop dead in my tracks in the street, able only to stare up at the charred hovel that was once my home. Then, another thought enters my stunned mind: my mother.

She must have been inside when the fire was lit. She is too old to work, too sickly ever since the war began. She has stayed home ever since my father was killed.

I am alone once again.

I turn away from this and sit on the soaked grass and gravel in front of the house, staring out into the street. The rain pours down on me even harder, and the running water in the streets is beginning to flood into my thick boots, freezing my feet on contact.

I ignore it all. I have learned to ignore life and the trials it enjoys to throw at me.

I've found that it's easier not to hope, to keep one's expectations and emotions from getting too high. That makes it easier when things like this happen. The bigger they are, the harder they fall. And if you're never high in the first place, then you never have to fall at all. So that's what I do—I don't allow myself to hope, to be optimistic. Not now, anyway. It always hurts too much now. I haven't been truly happy in years.

I shut my eyes and pretend I'm 7 again, at my birthday party. All of my family is there, including my dead father and grandparents, whom I have not seen in years. My little brother, who died just a month afterwards from one of our area's numerous sicknesses, is covered in icing. I'm laughing and opening my presents excitedly; I am a normal happy little girl.

And none of this has ever happened.

_

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There we go…water is finally done. I changed the storyline for this one several times, before I finished this version._

_I'm probably changing the lineup for the upcoming stories too: unless I get a huge outcry in my reviews, next will be Earth, and Fire will come last, and be set after the war. I'd like some input on this, please. _

_Please review!_

_-sugarland31_


	3. Standing Alone

**Lian: Earth Kingdom**

**Meaning of Name: Lotus**

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We have left so much behind. Or home, our family, our lives…

We are refugees. We don't have names; we are merely 'refugees'. We have been stripped of everything but the right to that title.

This is what I am thinking as I spoon soup into my sickly grandfather's mouth. He is weak, useless, but he is the only member of my family that is still alive. And for that, I will never abandon him. Never. I have sworn to myself infinite times that I will never give up the few things that separate myself from the label of "refugee".

My grandfather is all I have left. He is the only reason I cling to any hope that I am not just a refugee. That I am Lian—not just the girl in front of you in the line for clean water.

It was only a few months ago that the Fire Nation stormed my hometown and my family was murdered. It seems like years, though. And I have aged every single one of them. As has my grandfather. But we still hope—our ragtag group is only days away from the sanctuary of Ba Sing Sae. There we can start over, rebuild…and I will never have to be just a "refugee" again. I don't even have to be Lian, if I don't want to.

All of our hope hinges on Ba Sing Sae. It is all ahead of us. Anything left behind was burned as surely as our village and relatives. Torched.

In our group, Ba Sing Sae is regarded with a certain amount of awe. It withstood the Fire Nation for 600 days. It won. At Ba Sing Sae, there is still hope that the Fire Nation won't win. There, they are not all powerful. There, powerful, mighty _earthbenders, _not firebenders, are in power. There, we will be safe. We won't have to run anymore. We won't have to be refugees anymore.

I didn't want this life. I never wanted to be stripped of purpose, of meaning, like this. I wanted to stand fight for my home, not to run. I wanted to fight for my people. I never got a chance. My parents literally forced me into our wagon with my grandfather, out of Omashu, our home. I was half asleep at the time—and even if I'd realized what was going on, I couldn't have done anything about it.

…I couldn't have done anything to save my parents. They were killed in a riot against the Fire Nation. I wasn't even there.

That's why I'm so determined now to reach Ba Sing Sae, to shed the label of refugee forever. Only then can I stand apart from the others, stand alone. I can be an individual again. I can be Lian.

I'm beginning to realize I quietly hate them. The other refugees…my people, if you must. I hate the silent desperation in their eyes, the way they've given up on being themselves ever again. They've committed themselves to being refugees. They've given up. They're willing to fall under the title of refugee, to stay together amongst other outsiders, others who have lost it all. They don't feel the need to rebuild. They don't care about being individuals; they just want to survive.

I despise them.

Suddenly, I feel my grandfather's hand on my own. I stop mindlessly feeding him and look down. His eyes are serious. He is holding one of our slimy group ration noodles in his hand.

"Lian, what is this?" He says, his voice commanding. I give him a quizzical look; last I checked it was old age that was doing him in, not Alzheimer's.

"It's a noodle."

"It's a worm," he says, wiggling it in my face before flinging it to the ground. "I won't eat it."

I shrug. "Fine. Don't."

He leans back, slipping his hands behind his head, looking surprisingly nonchalant. "I hear the Fire Nation feeds their soldiers well."

I stare at him. Why is he talking about the Fire Nation like this?

"Do you think they'd let me join?" he asks, completely seriously. But the crinkle around his eyes somewhat spoils the effect. I throw back my head and laugh. It's an alien sound in our camp. My grandfather chuckles along with me. I'm amazed the others don't come running; we sound as if we have lost our minds.

When we calm down a bit, I turn to him, setting the noodles aside. "Grandfather," I begin, "What will we do once we reach Ba Sing Sae?"

He studies me for a moment before he replies. "Well," he says slowly, deliberating on his answer. "I will most likely return to my cobbling work. You can never have too many cobblers," he says sagely, pointing at me with his withered old finger. "And you…" he flashes me his trademark grin, the one that makes him seem ten years and one war younger. "You will undoubtedly catch the eye of a young, handsome Earth Kingdom nobleman. He will be absolutely smitten by your beauty," he pronounces grandly, and I laugh yet again. While I am not ugly, I am certainly average, and definitely not in any sort of position to be wooing noblemen.

Then a scream echoes over the camp.

My grandfather sits up abruptly. I sprint out the tent flap, careening into our "town square." I immediately see the source of the disturbance.

Smoke is issuing from a hillside less than two _li _away. Ash is floating in the air, a sinister promise of what is to come.

The Fire Nation has come to finish what it begun one night four months ago, in the darkened streets of Omashu.

I am back inside our tent in an instant, grabbing random belongings and flinging them into my knapsack. During all this, I bark out to my grandfather the nature of the situation. Then I run to grab our wagon and our Strider bird, Oma. (I had always loved the folklore of my people).

As I throw some blankets into the back of the wagon to make a makeshift bed for my grandfather, his gentle voice stops me.

"I'm not going, Lian."

I spin around, nearly losing balance. "What? Don't be silly, grandfather; of course you're going. Now get in."

He shakes his head, his eyes sad. "Lian, I am far too sickly. I would only slow you down."

I open my mouth to protest, but he waves me off, with a graver announcement.

"I want you to live, Lian. And live you will not if I stay with you." He finally makes eye contact with me. "You would not escape if you were forced to pull a sick old man all the way to Ba Sing Sae. The Fire Nation would catch you."

"But Grandfather—"

"No buts!" He reprimands, and suddenly his voice is strong again, more powerful than it has been since our flight from Omashu. "You speak constantly of how you want to escape this life, and rebuild in Ba Sing Sae! You that it is your only hope! You say you don't want to be a refugee! And yet…" his voice trails off. "And yet, you want to be illogical and emotional, and forfeit your only chance of survival."

At this point, silent tears are trickling down my face. But I do not cry. I simply kneel in front of him, and give him one last, final, hug. I am saying goodbye.

Still in silence, I throw a few more provisions into the wagon: a few bags of food, a hat, a poncho, water…it is by rote. I am mindless, numb at what I am about to do. I am about to leave my only family behind.

I lead Oma out the door, and we step into the sunlight, seemingly apart from the chaos around us, as other refugees shout and run about, attempting to gather possession for what we hope to be our final flight from the Fire Nation.

As I mount Oma, I pause at what I know will be the last time I hear my grandfather's voice.

"Lian…you must rely upon yourself. You must be an individual. When all falls apart around you, you must rise up from the panic. You must stand alone, Lian. Just like you say you have always wanted to."

I don't even turn. "Thank you, Grandfather." I mount Oma and start her off at a quick gallop out of the camp. It is rough going, and the wagon and its load clank along behind us, but we are still making good time. A flood of others surrounds us. It seems that the entire camp is running with us.

Then there is a wave of heat from behind us, and I am flung from Oma, as others fall to the ground, and further behind us, shriek in agony and terror.

I scramble to my feet. I turn around and Oma is being trampled, the wagon long since destroyed. She is opening her beak, emitting pitiful, pained cries. But I can already tell she is no more; her eyes have the look of death of so many of the refugees.

I turn and sprint away from the smoke and the flames and the dying people. Screams are all around me, and more than once I step on dead bodies, or even those of people who are still alive. Nothing affects me. I keep running. I block all of it out. There is only me and my path away from the heat.

I am a fair ways ahead of the rest of the pack, which has been trapped behind by the soldiers. A baby cries out. A woman screams for mercy. A man curses the Fire Lord.

I keep running.

There is a river just ahead. Without a moment's hesitation, I dive in headfirst. Anything to escape the soldiers, the fire…

I realize as I become completely submerged that the current is much too strong for me to swim against. I am blown downriver before I have even opened my eyes underwater.

Then, hit by a blast of inspiration, I summon the few earthbending powers I have left and raise a boulder from the riverbed, which I cling to desperately. My heart is pounding desperately in my chest, and my head feels as if it is about to explode.

I pop up for air. I expose only my nose and mouth above the water. I do not want to be seen. Once I have taken my fill, I duck back into my respite. My hell.

But even the water and the rushing current cannot keep the screams and the blasts out. While I was running, I could not hear or feel any of it. Now, with each scream, I shudder violently, and at each explosion, the ground itself seems to shake beneath me.

I continue to pop up for air every minute or two. I stay under as long as I can, though.

Finally, after what seems like hours, the explosions and the screams die down. And then…there is silence. Pure and absolute silence. Even the current seems to have stopped.

I somehow know it is over.

I propel myself back up to the surface, grabbing onto the shoreline and dragging myself up. I collapse against the muddy bank, gasping for air, and then raise myself up all the way. I gaze out over the field where my people's final flight from flame ended in one disastrous stroke.

There is no one there.

I walk out onto the field, my footsteps seeming to echo in the void of noise around me. Grass crunches beneath my feet, singed black by death.

I stop in the field's center, where one solitary Fire Nation helmet lies. This, I think, was their only casualty. One soldier. One life.

But they took hundreds.

I sit, Indian-style, on the burnt grass, and heft the helmet into my lap. It is surprisingly heavy, and still warm from use. I look inside. Sticky blood mats the soft silken insides. I lift the helmet onto my head, shutting my eyes.

But just like in the river, I can no longer block it out.

It's ironic, really, my sad, pathetic fate. I wanted to fight for my home and my country. I wanted to be a hero to my people. But when my chance finally came, I ran. Again.

I had wanted to be an individual. I didn't want to be 'just a refugee' anymore. I was tired of that label, tired of the life I had been condemned to. And now…the others were gone. I was no longer one of the refugees…I was refugee. Singular. Not plural.

My grandfather had told me to depend on myself. To stand alone.

And now, I guess I am.

_

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Author's Note: Finally, I got Earth up. I'm quite proud of myself, I must say. Only one more chapter left…fire. That will be fun._

_A few notes: as you've probably guessed, this one takes place during the show, and Lian is from Omashu. She was evacuated out before the FN completely took over; her parents rioted against the Fire Nation and were murdered. _

_That, and a note about **li**. Li were a system of measurement back in ancient China, kind of like miles. I figured it would be more historically appropriate to use li in this story._

_Please review! I love any sort of comments!_


	4. Epilogue

**Annot: Fire Nation **

**Meaning of Name: Unknown**

It is boarded up and abandoned looking, disheveled and orphaned, but it is the last great symbol of our nations' grandeur, our last testimony to greatness. Everything else has been taken away.

The former Imperial Palace, the so-called Crown Jewel of the Fire Nation…the only surviving remnant of my country's glory and honor.

I pry open the boards over its windows and clamber inside, tearing my robe on a loose nail sticking haphazardly out of the board. I ignore this and fall inside, landing splayed on the ground, covering myself in the dirt and grime that is now the only resident of the palace.

I drag myself to my feet, shaking off my robe. The palace sits, empty and echoing, before me, the ghosts of the Fire Nation seemingly tangible in the air, swirling around me. I close my eyes and breath in the dust and musty air that is now the Fire Nation.

The palace may not be the greatest casualty in the war, but it represents what has happened to our country, our people, and our honor.

Our nation has been raped, its resources, cities, and people taken away. Just as the palace sits empty, its grandeur robbed by the enemy.

Our people have been humiliated, forced to kneel to the countries we once ruled. Just as the palace has bowed to the Earth Kingdom army that invaded it, boarding it up and stripping it of its majesty.

They have attempted to steal our honor, to rob us of all that makes us the Fire Nation. But they have failed. Just as they have failed to destroy the palace, to rob it of its status in our country and the world.

They do this because they are angry, and because they are afraid. They have destroyed my country because of the way their home was dismantled, because of fear that we will rise up again. They take no honor in their victory. We have fallen from a great height, but yet they beat us to the ground and spit on us. But we still hold our heads high.

Despite the injustices they have brought onto us, onto the innocent women and children and elderly of the Fire Nation, we still are proud. We are Fire Nation; we are mighty, even in defeat. We will persevere through this; show the Earth Kingdom and the rest of the world that it will take more than _this _to defeat us. They try to break us. But they can't. We are still strong; we continue to burn.

I walk into the throne room, settle myself onto the grand platform where our Fire Lords have sat for centuries. I wonder what they would think of me, a plain, impoverished girl, living in the depths of the capital, sitting on their throne, stealing some of their greatness.

I wonder what it is like to wield such tremendous power, to gamble with lives. This war was a gamble by our Fire Lord; lives all over the world, not just in the Fire Nation, were annihilated because of it. Our nation was brought to its knees.

What is a Fire Lord supposed to feel after losing such a gamble, and destroying his nation, which he was supposed to protect? Would he feel shame? Anger? Would he weep for the millions lost?

He would be ashamed that he had brought such loss onto his people. He would be angry that he had miscalculated, that he had destroyed so much. He would weep bitter tears for all those that couldn't. This is what a true Fire Lord, a man who would embody the honor and dignity of the Fire Nation, would do.

I stroke the tarnished gold, bruised and bloodstained, and wonder how many centuries of precious history and heritage have been destroyed in this one single, cruel act.

Never, at least not in the history of the Fire Nation, has there ever been a conflict such as the war. Never has so many lives been lost. In one single action committed by one single man, the Fire Lord, the world has been turned upside down.

The throne seems to burn beneath me, so I rise and walk out through the back, stalking behind ratted curtains. I think that this would have been a perfect hiding spot for small children. I can see my little sister, who is just a toddler, hiding here. I wonder if anyone ever has hidden here. I wonder why.

I am broken out of my thoughts by a loud crash, followed by the tinkle of glass shattering. I peer out from behind my curtains; I wonder if I should leave the palace immediately, or stay.

My curiosity aroused by yet another crash, I creep out from behind the curtains and quietly enter into the Grand Hall of the palace. I follow the sounds, now growing louder, with voices added, towards what I believe may be the kitchen.

I am stopped by a thick hand closing around the base of my neck, another pinning me to the wall. I do not struggle; it would be a waste of energy. Instead, I crane my head the little bit I can and see that the man holding me is an Earth Kingdom soldier.

He leans into me, his breath hot and drunken against my face. "What're you doin' here?" he says, and I realize that he is incredibly drunk, swaying on the spot, slurring his words.

"I was just leaving," I say politely, though slightly icily, shaking off his hands (his grip is loose, perhaps because of the alcohol). I step back from him, inching further along the wall.

"Uh-uh," he slurs, and he grabs me by the shoulders and pushes me forcefully back into the wall. I let out a yell, hoping someone will hear and stop him.

Two men come, but I am not glad to see them. They are both Earth Kingdom soldiers, both as obviously saturated with alcohol as the man pinning me against the wall.

Now I struggle, kicking against the man holding me, who drops me in surprise. He lets out a strangled cry of drunken anger, staggering towards me. His two comrades follow suit, stepping forward menacingly, lowering themselves into a fighting stance.

I realize that they are going to earthbend a split second before it happens. But that does not help me to prevent it, as the ground beneath me raises up and I fall to the hollow tiles.

I leap up, sprinting back into the Grand Hall.

There are many windows here, but all of them are boarded up—I won't have enough time to pull them down and escape before the soldiers arrive. I keep running, back into the throne room.

I hear the soldiers behind me, and duck back behind the curtains again, praying to Agni for safety. The soldiers enter the room, swearing and overturning the few items of furniture that still remain in the palace. I stop breathing.

Then, somehow one of them spots me, and he bends a huge boulder towards me. I jump sideways out of the way, landing painfully on my side.

In an instant, two of them are there, grabbing me hard and slamming into the wall once again. I wonder if they are too stupid to think of any other way to restrain me.

The third laughs drunkenly and puts his hand on my face, his eyes boring into mine. I read the look in them, and once again, a second before it is going to happen, I know what he will do. And I will not let it happen; I will not let these men try to strip me of my honor and dignity, the way that they have my nation.

So, I do the only thing I can to get away, the one thing I didn't want to have to do.

I firebend.

The man leans into me, and I cough flame, hot and powerful, straight into his face, scorching his eyes. He lets out a cry of pain and falls back to the floor, grabbing his face in agony.

Before they can react, two single flames lash out from each of my feet, catching the two other men in the chest. They grunt and drop me. I hit the floor running, ignoring the flames and the men scrambling to their feet behind me.

I have almost made it to the window where I broke in when they catch up to me, obviously angry. A wall of earth closes me in, separating me from escape. They approach me, each in an earthbending stance. I wonder if their reflexes will suffer because they are drunk.

I shoot a strand of fire at the man in the middle. He puts up a shield of stone, but it is a millisecond too late, and the flames explode in his face yet again.

In retaliation, the men on either side of him begin heaving boulders at me. But their aim is off and the boulders move sloppily, and I dodge easily. I look up at the ceiling.

I wonder if the ceiling is thin and damaged here, as in other parts of the palace. I look at my hands and wonder how much force it will take to bring it down.

I raise a giant wall of flame and hurl it at my attackers, forcing them to stagger back even further, distracting them.

They are still licking their wounds when I begin the familiar, safe circular motion, feeling comfort in the power it holds. Electricity is sparking out of my fingertips, begging for escape, when they finally look up.

I blast the ceiling above them gracefully, lightning flowing from me, the energy feeling like an old friend. There is a huge explosion, and the ceiling collapses in on them, falling to the flaming floor. I hear their grunts and moans and know I have won.

But then I realize that the palace is on fire, that the flames have spread from the throne room and grown from my attack on the soldiers. I realize that I need to escape, now. I glance at the soldiers, but I realize that if I try to help them, I will die. There is no way I can get them out in time.

I summon lightning again, blasting away the massive wall of earth that separates me from the open window and escape. I once again fall through the window, but this time I land in the massive courtyard of the palace and I run, never stopping or looking back, until I am through the iron gates and back onto the street.

A crowd has gathered there, and I try to slip into it. This is nearly impossible; I smell of smoke and am covered in soot; I stand out. An old man runs to the gate and falls to his knees, giving great, heaving sobs. It is then that I finally raise my eyes and look to the palace.

It is engulfed in flames, fire licking up to the sky, begging entrance to the dark clouds gathered there. For the first time I feel the heat, heavy on my skin, so heavy I feel I cannot breathe.

In a few moments it is consumed entirely by the massive fire. All that is left is smoke and charred remains. It is gone. I have destroyed it.

The last symbol of nation's pride is wiped away.

_

* * *

Author's Note: Wow, sorry that took so long to be done. But…dun dun dun! Faces is officially concluded! My first multi-chapter Avatar story is done! I was a little nervous about this one—it got changed a few times before I finally settled with this. I hope you guys like it! _

_OK, before I go, I'd like to ask one quick question: which chapter was your favorite—Air, water, earth, or fire? (And I just realized—did I write the nations in the order of the Avatar cycle? If I did, I had no idea until just now. It's a little creepy…) Please answer in your review!_

_Thanks a million to everyone who read and reviewed this story! _

_-sugarland31_

_Oh, and P.S: I'll probably be writing a new multi soon, probably called The Walls of Ba Sing Sae. It will feature all of the Avatar cast, i.e. Aang and the Gaang, Zuko and Iroh, Ozai's angels, and…a couple others who have been seen on the show. The story will start with all of the cast traveling to Ba Sing Sae, and end with its siege. It should be a wild ride. I'd appreciate anybody that would read and review on that story as well. _


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